


Whisperers

by Yaksamillion



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:32:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaksamillion/pseuds/Yaksamillion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with confusion and fear as there was no simple explanation as to what was going on or how they had gotten such an ability.  Little did Grimmjow and Ichigo know that what they have is dangerous and should be kept secret.  While they learn how to control it, others like them are on the run for their dear lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's All In My Head

**Disclaimer: don't own the rights to Bleach or any of these characters.**

* * *

Chapter 1

-It's All In My Head-

* * *

_Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez_

_Fuchu Prison, Tokyo_

_June 4_

_11:37pm_

The first time he heard it he thought that he was slowly going insane. They don't play music in prison, well at least not the music that he was hearing. It sounded almost like Pop, like something they would play on the radio station. If anyone played that kind of shit they would most likely get a fist in their face and a few kicks to the ribs in a place like this. But it sounded faint and a little muffled as though it were being played at a distance.

Standing up Grimmjow paced his small cell trying to see if the volume increased the closer he got to his barred door or his barred window. Neither really made much of a difference considering how small of a space it was. Though if it was coming from outside that didn't really make much sense since his window faced the gated yard. The possibility of it being from a passing car was very doubtful. Maybe one of the cleaning staff was blasting music from his headphones? That was a possibility. Most of the janitorial staff had something up their asses and were always looking down on the inmates, wouldn't be a huge surprise if one were trying to make it hard for the prisoners to sleep. Fucking pricks.

Placing his ear to the left wall he tried to hear if it was possible that one of the inmates had smuggled in an iPod, though all he could catch was the sound of a sad masturbator. Jesus. The more he tried to locate the source of the music the further and more distant it became, almost like an echo. Christ he was going insane. Lying back down on his more than uncomfortable bed he closed his eyes and rubbed his face vehemently.

Shit what was the matter with him? He was only three days away from his release and now his body starts acting up? It had all started with that fucking headache that lasted for a good three days. He didn't say shit to anyone cause he didn't want to be thought of as a pussy but man it felt like his head was slowly being cracked open. And surprisingly the commissary had run out of Tylenol the day that it flared, though he doubted that it would've helped. When the pain finally stopped he almost fell to his knees and started crying. Relief.

But he wasn't a pussy so he didn't do that. Now he was hearing imaginative music, which sounded possibly English or French? Christ he was hearing music in a prison that was in a different language. What kind of fucked up is that. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes forcing himself to count sheep. Just three more days and he will be able to sleep in a bed that didn't smell of sweat and urine. Just three more days and he wouldn't have to wear this ratty blue jumper. Just three more days and he would finally be out of prison.

Grimmjow was prone to fucking up a lot, though he tried to avoid trouble if he could. But trouble always found him no matter how low he would hang his head trouble would find him. Wrong place at the wrong time was some real ass shit and man had he learnt his lesson.

* * *

_June 5_

_7:00am_

He wandered into a restless sleep that stretched on until morning call. The mess hall were all of the prisoners ate was loud with idle chatter of the other inmates. The food was disgusting and if he ever ate hot cereal again it would be too soon. The minute he was outside again he was going to eat the greasiest hamburger possible, maybe put some onion rings on it as well. With a sigh he started to scoop the disgust into his mouth trying not to gag for the hundredth time. Scarfing down his rice as quickly as possible to try and drain out the taste from his mouth and hold down the vomit that was threatening to spill all over his tray.

A clatter of a tray rouse Grimmjow from his gagging fit to see another inmate – one he could call friend – sat before him carrying an expression of revulsion as he looked down at the hot cereal. Shawlong Koufang was a Taiwanese immigrant that had been busted for peddling drugs between Taipei and Nagasaki, though from what the man had told Grimmjow, his distributions were all across South-East Asia. Cocaine if Grimmjow was correct, Columbian and top-notch from what Shawlong had explained. The Japanese authorities had thrown him in Fuchu instead of sending him back to Taipei for unknown reasons, though Grimmjow liked to believe it was one of his connections that had gotten him in here.

"This smells and looks like dank cum," said Shawlong as he decided to skip the cereal and just eat his rice. The older gentleman pushed the bowl down the table quickly being grabbed by another hungry inmate. Nothing went to waste here, "even the rice tastes like ass today."

"Why waste good money on edible food when it could be put to something better?" commented Grimmjow as he drank his water, mulling over his scrambled eggs with a fork.

"Yeah like the pocket of the warden," the other man replied as he finished off his last few bites of rice, "betcha that bitch drives some sort of import car."

"Wouldn' know."

"Well when you get out of here mind doing me a huge favour?"

Leaning back in his chair both hands going to the back of his head, Grimmjow cracked his neck to relieve some of the strain that the bed had given him, "depends."

"Key the bitch's car for me."

"I'll pass," responded Grimmjow with a chuckle. The image of dragging a sharp object across the expensive vehicle was satisfying enough, "I hate this place too much to want to come back any time soon."

"I agree with that," said Shawlong. The man mimicked Grimmjow as he tried to relieve some of the stress as well with a crack to his neck, another thing that prison did was give you chronic neck pain it seemed. Flipping his long braided hair over his shoulder the older gentleman inquired, "have you found a workplace outside yet?"

"Yeah, an old friend of mine from childhood is setting me up with his grandmother. Apparently she needs help around the flower store that she owns."

"A flower shop? Fuck make sure no one else over hears you in here," both men stood up disposing of their trays in the growing stack that was accumulating beside the garbage, "does the old lady know about you?"

"He told me it shouldn't be much of a problem, he just warned me not to steal fuck all—"

Grimmjow's voice trailed off as the music from last night ghosted through the hallway. His skin shivered as he felt something brush it, a feeling he could only describe as walking through a spirit, or at least he assumed that's what it would feel like. Looking over his shoulder he couldn't see anyone walking in the opposite direction of he and Shawlong. The music slowly started to diminish as if someone were sauntering away with a speaker into the distance.

The song disappeared around the corner that lead back into the dining hall. Though this time it sounded clearer and he could make out a few words like _medicine_ and a soft drum beat along with a soothing English accent. Whatever that was it had set his skin a blaze as his shoulder prickled with electricity. Even stranger was what the music did to his head, it had the complete opposite effect that his never-ending migraine had. It could only be described as an ice-cold kiss to a scorched spot; gentle.

"You alright?"

Grimmjow turned to Shawlong whose face was caught between curiosity and worry, "did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Music."

"The only thing that I can hear is a possible fight breaking out back in that mess of a hall," Shawlong replied, his eyes trying to see whatever Grimmjow was searching for. "Are you okay man? You've been kind of on edge since you got those release forms."

Deciding to drop the whole thing Grimmjow picked up the pace as he headed for the electrical unit. In prison the inmates were usually assigned to different departments as cheap labour, their wages usually going to convection, it killed time as well. He had somehow lucked out in being assigned to repair broken fans and change light bulbs so long as he was kept under surveillance. That's all he needed, something to distract him for a prolonged period of time.

"Yeah I'm fine, just got a lot on my mind that's all."

Not wanting to push the issue Shawlong took the answer as he came to a stop where the hallway forked, "if you say so. I'll catch you later."

He waited until Shawlong's body disappeared around the corner before Grimmjow checked over his shoulder one last time. He didn't want the other man to keep asking question too which he didn't know the answers to. Shoving his hands into his jumper's pockets he marched out the doors into the cold morning air heading in the direction of the electrical shed. The sun was only starting to warm the earth as patches of green grass were covered in a thin sheet of white frost from the dew freezing. Hell he could even see his breath.

His brain wandered to three possibilities as to why he was hearing strange noises. The first was that the prison was haunted because some dead asshole couldn't find the light at the end of the tunnel and decided to play the residential poltergeist; highly unlikely but not impossible. The second option was that the stress of leaving prison and restarting his life was making his brain hyper alert and thus paranoid of his own shadow, likely. And the third was that the headache that had lasted for what felt like forever had really done a number on him, very possible.

* * *

_Ichigo Kurosaki_

_Réseau de Cacao, Paris_

_June 4_

_11:23pm_

Slowly placing the coffee cup down Ichigo's face clearly read disgust as he eyed the black liquid with both scepticism and horror. He had never tasted coffee that gave off the flavour of what could only be described as vomit. Literal, flavourless, dank paste; almost like moulding clay that he would play with in school. If Cacao's coffee normally tasted like something from art class he didn't even want to know what their macaroons tasted like. He just couldn't trust a desert that was such a neon green; it's unnatural.

Pushing away from the table, his chair loudly dragging across the floor, he threw a couple of Euros underneath the full cup of coffee. Grabbing the green mutant desert and his red gym bag he walked out of café, some of the fellow patrons giving him sideways glances. Many held a rich air to them as they dressed themselves in either high fashion brands or up and coming names. This is only an illusion to fool those around them; most of the people looking at Ichigo sideways probably couldn't afford to live the lifestyle that they had chosen. Attending high access parties, eating at all the trending restaurants, and wearing different clothes. Of course this was only speculation. Ichigo's time in Paris hasn't exactly been the most welcoming.

He only came here to further pursue his skills as a dancer. It was either here or Moscow but he wasn't really into ballet so he decided to come to Paris instead. That and he fucking hated cabbage. Walking through the city he navigated his way through the crowds of people heading for a night out. Slipping on his headphones he allowed the sounds of his music to enter his brain, his mind went blank as autopilot took over. It wasn't until his shoulder collided with someone that he snapped out of his reverie that he decided to pay closer attention to where he was going. Throwing an apology over his shoulder he swung around a final corner before walking into a building with a sign that held gold cursive writing _Reina De Rosas_. Queen of Roses.

Walking up the staircase loud music could be heard as a man's voice kept count over the beat. Pushing open the door at the end of the stairs he entered into a dance studio with red painted walls, bright lights, hard wood flooring, and an entire wall composed of mirrors. Three dancers were twirling and gyrating as a tall muscular male Spaniard with long curly brown hair kept count, the quirky and self-involved Queen of the Roses himself; Charlotte Chuhlhourne. The man was a legend in the dancing world.

At the far end of the room stood a woman leaning against a wooden pole that stretched horizontally along the entire wall. Blowing a pink bubble from her lips, she lifted a black eyebrow as Ichigo approached her. Bambietta "Bambi" Basterbine was a short French woman with a slender figure and dark black hair that trailed all the way down her back. She was a fierce hip-hop dancer with a passion for making things explode as she worked part-time at a firework factory. Ichigo got along with her well enough since she was also fairly talented as a contemporary dancer.

"You're late," Bambi droned as a pink bubble popped. Throwing his bag down to her feet he stripped of his leather jacket and the white T he was wearing underneath changing it for a loose fitting grey tank top, which was a size too large for him. Next came his black jeans that were replaced for black sweats.

"Tell me something I don't know," Ichigo replied sarcastically as he set to work lacing up a pair of jet-black Adidas.

"Bazz wants to start a new routine," the woman joined Ichigo in stretching, the pair falling into clean splits. Being nimble made all the difference when it came to dancing, especially if your instructor was someone like Charlotte.

"Of course he does."

Standing back up the pair watched as the other three dancers continued their routine, bodies pumping and convulsing as arms moved and legs kicked to the tempo of the thumping song. A man with hair the same colour as Bambi's piece of gum lead the three as his body curled into a somersault, his hands coming out at the rolls' completion into a hand stand. Bazz-B was an obnoxious Australian who specialized in hip-hop that had infusions of breakdancing. It looked like street performance to Ichigo.

Gerard Valkyrie a loud and proud Norwegian with long blonde hair was the spitting image of what Thor probably looked like if he was human, danced on Bazz's left. The larger Norse had slower movements and was more suited to contemporary and ball room dancing as he was better at lifting his partner than hitting fast notes. Lille Barro, the other dancer, was more suited for what the group was trying to accomplish. From what he had told Ichigo, the African-American had learnt to dance in the streets of Chicago and watching Missy Elliot and Michael Jackson music videos. The man was a prodigy and it came through in his work.

Somehow the group was making it work and the dance was actually really coming together. As much of a hot head that Bazz could be, he was a damn good choreographer. The music came to a stop and the three men stepped back, Gerard collapsing as the other two panted heavily.

"Beautiful, perfect, dangerous, incredible, sexy!" praised Charlotte as he pirouetted into the centre of the room. The Queen of Roses was fairly flashy and possibly the most flamboyant person Ichigo had ever met, "well done Bazz-B. Make sure you drink some water!" The Spaniard waved the three away, his face shifted from flirtatious to deadpan in point three seconds as his eyes locked onto Ichigo's sending a shiver up the orange haired man's body, _fuck_ , "Kurosaki-kun, you're laaaatttteeeeee-ah!"

Ichigo's teacher had learnt Japanese honorifics just to piss the man off, respectful yes but not properly used. That and it just sounded annoying coming out of the man's mouth, "yeah sorry about that."

"Doesn't matter if you are sorry or not, it's your turn to show us what you have been working on."

* * *

_Grimmjow_

_9:57am_

The old man who ran the electrical unit in the prison rarely gave a shit about what the inmates did with their time. Since there were only three inmates who were deemed trustworthy enough to work with sharp tools – dull screwdrivers and rusted hammers – not much work ever really got done. Today Grimmjow had been assigned to repair a fan that was making a loud creaking noise every time the blades would do a complete rotation. More than time consuming, especially since the only repair manual they had was in Arabic and unfortunately he did not know the language.

The picture and designs didn't really help all that much either since they were pointing to objects and things that the fan didn't even have. It was definitely possible that the prison had been given the wrong instruction manual as a joke. This happened more than often as the books from the library were handouts and would occasionally have pages missing. Grimmjow had given up on trying to read the Hunger Games as the first few books had missing pages and the Gale character's name was always scratched out.

Saying fuck it to manual, he set out to try and unscrew a bolt that he had seen in the picture. But as the world was always against him, the screwdriver slipped at an awkward angle. Though the tip was dull it still managed to find itself impeded in the tip of his left thumb.

"Fucking shit!" Grimmjow shouted jumping up suddenly, sending his stool falling to the ground.

"God dammit Blue," grumbled the old man as he was shocked from his nap to see someone bleeding all over the ground, "go clean yourself up. Last thing we need is something to be even more broken because you are spilling your guts all over it."

He dashed to the small washroom in the back of the maintenance shack. It wasn't necessarily WHIMS approved and a healthy and safety rep would undoubtedly have passed out if they'd step in. Turning on the cold-water tap, he allowed the pipe water to run through for a bit before he placed his thumb underneath the water. The pain was only at shock value and soon dissipated, the blood was still flowing though and the best he could possibly do for bandage in the shack was to wrap paper towel around it.

Grabbing the roll he wrapped the white paper around his thumb as tightly as possible, applying pressure to the area and lifting his hand above his head. A long sigh left his mouth as he fell back against the wall. Just three more days and he would be out of here. No matter what this place was doing to his head, he needed to just keep it low and not draw any attention to himself. That wasn't going so well as one would expect.

Straightening up he turned to grab the doorknob to leave the room, except when his hand stretched out to find the rust round ball there was nothing but air. Looking down at his hand he was surprised to see that the concrete floor had changed to a bright hardwood floor. The sound of a slow thumping base could be heard around him as bright lights shined down from around him. All around him were red walls and strange people he'd never seen before in his life.

Spinning around in mad confusion he faced a long wall that was comprised entirely of mirrors. However instead of seeing his reflection an orange haired man was dancing in a very sensual way. Hips whined to the sluggish tempo to the song the man's chest popping top a sudden spike in the instrumentals. Arms swirled and moved up and down his bodies as he begun to walk towards his reflection.

The orange haired man slid on the ground his legs spreading as he did what could only be described humped the floor. Grimmjow however was in a trans as the man's ass whopped and gyrated he could only imagine were conceivable. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the male dancer, either in sheer astonishment or wonder at the fact that this could not be real. He had to have smacked his head on something in the dingy bathroom, there was no way he could be picturing an orange haired man dancing very suggestively right before him.

But as soon as it appeared, the dancing man vanished. There was no way that any of that could have feasibly been real! The rust from the screwdriver must have seeped into his bloodstream, which went straight to his head, causing a very real hallucination. Not even he fucking believed that. Stomping out of the grimy washroom he walked past the table he'd been working at heading straight for the door, holding his hand in mock pain.

"I'm heading to the infirmary."

"I'm not your mother Blue, don't bitch to me about it," the old man croaked as his eyes never strayed from the magazine he was reading.

The trip to the infirmary didn't help either, all he could think about was that orange haired man, the music he'd been hearing, and the headache that felt like it had split his brain in half. Nothing was making sense to him anymore and holding it together was starting to get harder and harder by the second. The bandage that the officer had given him looked like it would fall off any moment, and the man had refused to give him an aspirin. Cocksucker. He was dismissed from his duties for the rest of the day and instructed to return immediately to his cell. Great.

It only got better when three guards were waiting for him at his cell when he returned, the smaller of the three men spoke in a deep voice that was used to issuing commands, "prisoner 6689436?"

"Yeah…can I help you sir?" replied Grimmjow taking on a more defensive tone. The last thing he needed was to toss down with the guards when he was so close to his release date. Though the little man looked like he had a face that would be fun to punch.

"You are being moved to solitary for the remainder of your stay for your own protection," the guard continued his face deadpan and his eyes showing no empathy. Grimmjow's stomach sank at the sound of that, he had been put in solitary for a whole week for starting a fight in the mess hall, it's actual hell, "your personal possessions will be moved to the front office to be picked up on your departure."

"Wha…why am I being moved to solitary?" Grimmjow asked as panic rose in his voice. The last place he wanted to be was alone without any indication of time, with only his thoughts to keep him occupied.

"As I said," the guard turned his head and nodded to the two guards on either side of him, "you are being moved for your own protection."

The two men moved to either side of Grimmjow waiting for the man to resist. He was a big man and built, but Grimmjow knew that he couldn't take on two guards at once, "that's bullshit!"

"Come quietly prisoner 6689436, we don't want to get physical with you."

"This is bullshit!" before Grimmjow could say anything both guards had both his arms forcing his body to the ground as a knee pressed between his shoulder blades. Breathing came hard as the pressure built as one man worked on restraining his struggling body while the other while the other placed him in handcuffs. He couldn't move his head, he couldn't see what was going on, "please don't do this!"

"This is for your own protection prisoner 6689436," the man couldn't even make it sound believable.

"Please stop!"

They dragged him to his feet, pushing him to walk forward and to follow the guard who was barking the orders. Eyes were on Grimmjow as a crowd had gathered to observe the spectacle. His eyes met that of a panicked Shawlong, who was pushing himself through to see what was happening to his friend. The small guard yelled for everyone to return to their cells as he was pushed down a corridor and into the elevator that would take him to the basement where solitary was located.

He was pushed into a smaller cell with a shittier bed and a rusted toilet that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in months. The handcuffs were removed and the large metal door slammed shut behind him. Dread consumed him as he launched a fist at the cement wall before running his hands through his sky blue hair.

"No, no, no, no, fucking no!" he shouted as his fist connected with the cement multiple times until the beige wall had specks of blood on them. This was the last thing he needed. He couldn't be alone with his thoughts right now; he didn't have the resolve to spend any alone time with nothing to distract him. Leaning against the bloody wall he slid down to sit on the floor, "this can't be happening…"

* * *

_Ichigo_

_June 5_

_2:06am_

"…Fucking no!"

Ichigo spun around to look down the empty dark street in search for the panic stricken voice. Not a single soul stirred, only a passing newspaper blue in the night's air. Cars were parked but all the drivers were in their apartments sleeping away the woes of the day. Turning back around, Ichigo picked up the pace as all he wanted to do was hurry home. A growing soreness in his hand was taking his mind off of the aching in his left thumb. Placing his headphones back on and choosing a random song, Ichigo hurried off so he could get out of the streets.


	2. Flickers

Chapter 2

-Flickers-

* * *

_Grimmjow_

_Isolation, Fuchu Prison, Tokyo_

_June 6 or possibly 7?_

_?_

The thoughts of how long had he been in the small cramped cell constantly plagued Grimmjow's mind as he looked at the same four blank walls. He could feel it; he could actually feel himself losing his mind. Isolation did things to inmates, made them tamer as their minds snapped from the lack of stimuli that their environment offered them. He'd already stared at his own smeared blood from punching the wall too many times that the red had faded to becoming the same beige as the cement walls.

His whole immediate world had lost all of its colour reverting to murky shades of grey and blacks so deep that it looked like he was staring into the eyes of an abyss. Grimmjow felt heaviness, as his eyes couldn't bear to look at such a world. Closing them only made him want to fall into a sleep that he didn't think he'd be able to wake up from, at least in his dreams there were still vivid colours and the scent of cigarettes. Christ what he would do for the taste of nicotine, one good thing about prison was that he had to quit his smoking habits. Being jumped for a couple of smokes wasn't something he wanted to experience.

The sound of sliding metal made him open his eyes as a thin rectangular light pierced the darkness of his cell, a tray of food sliding in before the small hatch shut again. Getting up he took the few steps to bend over and pick up his tray to see the familiar breakfast that was served everyday in the mess hall. Well at least now he knew that every area of the prison still served shitty food. He ate quickly trying to hold down the vomit that wanted ever so badly to be released from his stomach, the last thing he needed was to starve.

Finding his spot back on the futon he closed his eyes wanting nothing more than to just sleep for the next forty-eight hours. He was so close to freedom but still so far away as the minutes turned into hours in this place. A faint humming noise came from his right as an itch started from one corner of his face traveling over to the opposite, feeling almost like the blowing of the wind. Though both possibilities were impossible since isolation was well _isolation_ , that and they pumped pretty stagnate air into the cells. His brain must be going into overdrive to find some kind of stimuli to focus on; he was even starting to taste bubble gum in his mouth.

_Bubble gum_? Sitting up in his futon one of his fingers shot into his mouth rubbing against his cheek and tongue trying to find that mouth-watering flavour of gum. Shit it had been almost a year since he last chewed a piece of Hubba-Bubba. The passing of a person dressed in expensive looking clothes made Grimmjow freeze with his finger still in his mouth. Looking around he was no longer in his four walled cell but in the middle of a bricked sidewalk.

"What the actual fuck?" Grimmjow spoke, taking his finger out of his mouth and doing a 180 of his surroundings.

The world had suddenly changed as couples held hands walking up and down the sidewalk, while business men strode impatiently speaking into smartphones, a group of children walked a bulldog towards what looked like an ice cream stall except the lettering looked like a Latin alphabet. He had no idea how but somehow he could understand what the letters meant and even knew what the word was _gelato_. What the fuck was gelato? He'd never had the stuff yet someone the taste was familiar.

As he eyes observed his surroundings taking in the architecture that was definitely not Japanese. Buildings with intercut designs that resembled pictures he'd seen of Europe stood before him, skinny windows and all. Metal banisters looked over the top as the metal had been shaped to look like flowers and fans. The roofs possibly some kind of other metal were either rusted or dulled as they had a blue-green tint to them.

"Where the hell am I?"

Doing another quick turn his eyes landed upon a semi familiar head of orange hair, the rest of the body leaning against a brick rail that overlooked some sort of canal. Tentatively, Grimmjow walked towards the man from his strange 'day-dream' yesterday. At a closer look he had to admit as far as people he'd seen went this man was very striking. Brown eyes so light that they could only be described as copper, with gold rings surrounding his pupils drew people in. Tan skin only brightened his orange hair, thin lips with a small scar on the top right corner, all accompanied on a lithe and toned body which could belong only to a dancer.

"Hello?" said Grimmjow waving a hand in front of the man's face trying to break his concentration. Nothing, the man continued to stare out into the skyline. A pink bubble expanding from the pursed lips before popping filling the air with a bubble gum sent while music blared from the man's headphones, it was clear that Grimmjow was being ignored, "fucking great, I have no idea where I am—"

Stopping himself mid speech as his eyes turned to see what the other was looking at so intently. Before him was a skyline that he'd only seen in posters and foreign movies. Older architecture like the one that surrounded him now lead down a hill before spreading out and leaving an opening for small patch of what appeared to be a park. Beyond the park a haze spread hiding more modern looking buildings and skyscrapers with patches of old surrounding them. But what caught Grimmjow's eye was the large metal tower that stood above all the skyscrapers seemingly cutting the sky. The Eiffel Tower.

"Paris…"

There was no way that he could be in _Paris_ , just a few minutes ago he was laying on a futon in isolation. Now he was standing beside some ginger stranger looking out at something he thought he'd never see. A jolt of electricity shot through his body as he looked down to see that both he and the unknown ginger's pinky finger were touching. Copper eyes looked down to see what had caused the static shock as well. They rose as if to follow Grimmjow's arm, before their eyes made contact a loud clanging noise brought Grimmjow back into his small cell.

* * *

_Nelliel tu Odelschvank_

_Condomínio de Rei, Rio de Janeiro_

_June 6_

_4:12 pm_

Though Brazil's fall had only just started the heat of the summer left a lasting impression on the city of Rio, forcing many of its inhabitants to hide inside and away from the blistering sun. Sitting beside the cranked AC Nelliel tu Odelschvank waited for the voice to respond to her constant distress. She had managed to track down the man to this location after many false leads and wild goose chases she just hoped that the information was right and that she still had enough time.

Running her hands through her longs sea foam green hair it took everything in her to not fall into a deep sleep from the sweltering temperature. Taking a long gulp of the lukewarm water bottle she hummed to herself a tune to keep her distracted. Her entire body froze as the familiar tickling sensation begun in the back of her spine that spread to her entire body only to be met with a firm coldness growing in her left hand. Hazel eyes opened to see a lengthy slumped over figure, long black hair falling down to hide his face. They had put him in some sort of stupid white jumper, his hands bandaged to hide whatever they were doing.

"You…found me?" spoke the man his voice sounding dry and filled with pain. Nel couldn't find it in herself to tear her eyes away from the man nor force a muscle to move an inch. Shit he looked ragged, had they even been feeding him as they tested on him? "What took your ass so fucking long?"

"I spoke to unreliable people," Nel answered honestly, the body in front of her giving a slight flinch. He was holding back most of the pain, not wanting to share the effects of the torture he had been enduring. Closing her eyes again she tried to ease him a bit only to be pushed back by what felt like a steel wall, "you can share some of the burden, I can take it."

"Not this time Nellie," the man spoke with a chuckle, his head still hanging low, "I can't let you feel any of this…ever."

"Nnoitra…"

The moment his name was said the man stirred lifting his head up to look at the woman. Nel couldn't hide the shock from her face and her stomach did an unholy yoga as the man's hair fell away from his face revealing a huge hole where his left eye was supposed to be.

"What did they do to you?" anger spiked in her voice as her hand wanted to reach out and stroke his hair, wanting ever so much to comfort him.

"Things that I'm not going to share with you," Nnoitra begun his head slouching back over, hair cascading to hide his damaged in swollen face, "they've been trying to make me crack Nel, trying to make me give up your location. Fucking idiots, if only they knew you've been tailing them this entire time."

"You sure they don't already know I'm here?"

"Can't. They still don't know how we work."

"How can you be so positive?"

"Cause if they knew, they wouldn't have drilled my eye out," a morbid laugh shook his slouched body. Nel remained silent as she waited for the man to continue, though they had little time she knew it was taking everything out of Nnoitra to maintain the connection in such a state on top of blocking the pain from being spread to her. These were feats on their own so she needed to be patient, "they are close to finding them Nellie."

"What…?" Nel felt sheer dread creep into her at the thought of the others being found like she and Nnoitra had been, "they couldn't…I made sure…if they can't find me then how could they possibly find the others?"

"Not sure…"

"Shit! We were so careful."

"Wasn't us…a mole possibly? Could've got another pair before me…couldn't take the torture like I could. You need to warn the others."

The environment had changed around them; the warmth of the condo building was replaced by the coolness of the surgical room where Nnoitra lay on the gurney. Green mobile curtains surrounded them enclosing them in a square, she could hear voice on the other side but couldn't understand or make out what they were saying. He had too many devices attached to him and multiple needles inserted in his veins.

"They can't see us…can't understand us either."

Placing a hand over one of his bandaged ones, Nel began to stroke attempting to comfort the man as best she could in his final moments, "I've prepared something for you."

"Is it a fucking massage? Could use one of those…"

"Even better," Nel chuckled as she stopped stroking his hand and clenched his in a soft hold not wanting to add any unwanted pressure, "not a single person in that building is going to make it out alive."

"Sounds vengeful," Nnoitra coughed the heart monitor spiking a bit indicating the amount of time they had left together, "you know me too well Nellie."

"That I do," she replied a small stream of tears finding their way down her face knowing that the time was approaching.

"You know…I've always hated you from the day we connected, having some chick constantly in my head. Knowing me sometimes better than I know myself. It really fucking pisses a guy off. We aren't even married and you treated me like some dickhole on a leash," Nnoitra croaked letting his final words haunt the air between the surgical room and the condo where they sat facing each other, "yet I've never been happier. Ain't that a fucking bitch…"

A still blackness filled the void where once Nnoitra Jiruga was. Even if they were separated she could always pick out nips and pieces of him even if they were only flickers she knew that he was still with her. But this was like nothing she could have ever experienced there was only a dark numbness that gave off no light or sound. It was as if the memories she had borrowed from him had been completely erased.

Uncontrollable trembles shook her body as she curled into the fetal position bringing her legs tightly to her chest. Closing her eyes she allowed the screams to escape her lips as she cried violently into the wooden floor of the condo. Miles away explosions erupted decimating a small pharmaceutical distributing agency, taking out all those in the building and laying damage to some of the surrounding victims. The news herald it as a chemical leak that had gotten out of control. There was no mention of the man that they kept torturing or the bomb that had been sent via mail.

* * *

_Grimmjow_

_Iso-fucking-lation, Fucku Prison, Tokyo_

_June 6...7?_

_?_

No matter how much he tried Grimmjow couldn't seem to find himself to be back in Paris. He had tried everything, meditating, doing handstands against the wall, and even attempting to choke himself to see what oxygen deprivation would do to him. None of it worked instead he had been left with a headache and a little light headed. No matter what he did he couldn't escape this hell he had been trapped in for the past twenty-four hours. He had forgotten how nice it was to walk around unhindered by bars and cages and a view that was something other than a shitty square building.

And those eyes…fuck he had never seen eyes with such a deep tone to them that drew him in the second he saw them. In fact he had never felt such a pull towards a single person in his entire life. Never had he felt an actual static shock his entire system whenever someone touched his hand, shit wasn't even his hand it was his pinky finger. He needed to see the orange haired man again; he had to confirm that he was real and not just a figment of his questionable sense of reality. The problem was just how the fuck was he going to get back to that place?

A familiar clang and a ray of light as the smell of dumplings, rice and some sort of fish wafted to his nose. It took everything in him not to kick the tray, sending the food scattering across his small cell. Instead he turned his rage towards the wall he had been previously punching, his fists connecting and chipping away the hard cement. He felt his skin crack and his bones protest but still he continued to punch colouring the wall more with fresh blood.

Resting his head against the wall he exhaled deeply letting the feeling of pain course through his whole body. Sliding down the wall he found himself on his knees rubbing his sore and drowsy eyes. Being in such a small space with a constant light was only adding on to his weakening state of mind, he wasn't normally this fragile but being kept away from the outside world was doing a number on him.

"…Have you…yet ab…t…Japan?" a feminine voice spoke making him open his eyes to see a young woman with long dark hair and brown eyes looking back at him, expecting Grimmjow to answer.

"I'm back…?" whispered Grimmjow only to hear a voice that was his speak.

"You never fucking left," the woman responded confusion plaguing her face as she got up from the split she was doing

Turning his head to follow her, Grimmjow's eyes landed upon a wall of mirrors. However instead of seeing his own reflection, that of the orange haired man stared back at him, "holy fuck!"

"Kurosaki-kun! Languageeee," a very flamboyant voice pestered Grimmjow as a very built man with huge black hair and a fuzzy pink sweater spoke, "how many times do I have to tell you? That foul mouth of yours will only get you in trouble!"

Before he could say anything a very violent pushing feeling launched Grimmjow out of the man—Kurosaki was it—body so that he was sitting against the back wall. Kurosaki looked around as if searching for something, like how people look for a buzzing fly they could hear but could not see.

"Sorry Char, won't happen again," spoke Kurosaki as he stood walking towards the centre of the room. He took his spot beside a man with bubble gum pink mohawk; the woman he had been stretching with took the opposite end of Kurosaki.

The man named Char started to count to three before loud music filled the room making all three of them shuffle around in figure eight like motions taking up different places from what they had originally started with. Grimmjow watched as the three moved in unison to the beat of the music, arms pumping and flexing, legs kicking and jiving, while torsos wound and shook. He had to admit it that watching the three of them was quite hypnotizing, especially how the woman wound her hips in matter that made Grimmjow think of how Latinas would dance.

The song merged into something with a booming base making the three dancers shift to their original positions. At a hit of a strong beat both Kurosaki stuck a pose like they were vogue-ing while the pink haired man dropped into splits, sliding back up he started to spin at a fast speed. Dropping to his knees the man used the momentum to fall into a push-up position however his legs did not touch the ground. Swinging them the man rolled into a ball as he did controlled spins on the ground, Grimmjow had only seen a few videos of break dancing but this was the first time he'd seen one done so professionally.

Mohawk-dude leapt up as the beat started to slow down bringing the pace to a more relaxed feeling. Kurosaki split from the group, Mohawk-dude taking the empty spot. Taking three steps back Kurosaki walked into the centre, as a female voice came on the speakers he started to suggestively walk back towards the pair. All three in sync bent into a squat like position their torsos doing a wave like motion before ending in a small crump in their ass. Kurosaki's hand travelled down his chest before gripping his junk pulling forward so that he was standing straight again.

The chorus built up and the other two dancers closed in around him all three beginning to do a gyrating motion with their hips. The music stopped and all three broke off, "that was…BEAUUUUTIIIFUL!"

Each dancer had a small grin on their face as they heaved heavily for oxygen listening to their dancing instructor raddle off several different adjectives to describe their performance, "beautiful, holy wonderful, super magnum, sexy, sexy dancing! Take ten minutes before we start again!"

And that was how Grimmjow spent his day; he sat against the wall watching the orange hair man perform the same dance over and over again even after everyone had left. There was something so serene about watching the determined ginger practice the same moves that Grimmjow found his eyes fall heavily and sleep peacefully consumed his body. Tonight he dreamed of a smile like the sun and sharp orange hair that felt so soft to the touch.

* * *

_Ichigo_

_Reina De Rosas Dance Studio, Paris_

_June 6_

_11:47pm_

Paris's skyline at night was one of Ichigo's favourite things about the city. Whenever he was finished dance he'd always go out of his way to look over at the bright city landscape. He probably wouldn't miss the city itself when he moved back to Japan in a month but he would definitely miss how beautiful the nights were. As he walked down the empty streets, music blaring in his headphones, he opened his Twitter feed to pass the time reading about the latest celebrity gossip, a chemical explosion at a pharmaceutical company in Rio de Janeiro, Japan's men's soccer team win against Mexico, and some random tweets from a few friends of his.

However he could not forget that itch in the back of his head at what he had seen today and what he had _felt_. It had started in his pinky finger and travelled up through his entire body, he could only describe it as though ice had touched a hot surface and had begun to melt. From then there was pain in his hands that felt like a repeated crunch, splitting the skin around his knuckles. Then there was that fucking… _room_.

The moment he had seen it a sense of dread had washed over him. It was an out-of-body experience; literally it wasn't his body since he didn't have any tattoos of his own. He must have been imagining it, there was no explanation for it, and it _had_ to be his imagination. Except just how real the blood against the cement wall looked or how those hands burned from the pain of repeatedly punching it. When he had gone to the small sink to wash his hands the cold water felt so real. But he had saw something else in the reflection of the clear liquid and this was the thing that for some reason made Ichigo not be able to stop smiling even if it was just a flicker of an image.

_Blue._


	3. Imaginary Friends

Chapter 3

-Imaginary Friends-

* * *

_Grimmjow_

_Fuchu Prison, Tokyo_

_June 8_

_3:43pm_

The bus that he sat on would take him as far as the next town over before his new employer would pick him up. Grimmjow had been given the grey suit he'd been wearing on the day that he'd been picked up and to his surprise he'd manage to put on either some fat or muscle since entering into prison. Whatever, it just felt good to not be wearing that blue jumpsuit anymore; he'd take the small dress shirt. The grey-stripped tie hung loose around his collar as he'd forgotten how to properly tie it.

He hadn't realized just how much he had missed the more simplistic view of Japan; the prison didn't offer much to look at. But even watching as the scenery changed from empty lots to fields of grass being swallowed up by cityscape before returning to forest as the school bus travelled along the highway. Scratching his face, feeling the unshaved blue hairs of his beard starting to grow again. Man was he looking forward to taking a shower and shaving. Three days in solitary had made him appreciate just how valuable a bar of soap was.

He was just thankful that there was no one else on the bus, he had no idea just how much he wreaked but judging by the scrunched up look that the guards had given him when they came to take him out, it probably wasn't all too pleasant. His eyes wandered back to the window, watching trees pass him in a blur before a clearing opened and a city came into view. A giant metal tower splitting the skyline in half, the smell a fresh baked bread wafting up to his nose. Looking down an odd crescent shaped pastry sat on a white plate beside a small cup of what looked like coffee.

Grimmjow's head looked up to see orange hair and a concentrated face glaring at a computer screen. Brown eyes scanning the screen reading something that he clearly didn't agree with. The man slammed the computer shut a curse rolling off his tongue as fingers went to rub his temples. Every motion of the man was graceful and poised as though he was always being watched.

"Kurosaki…"

* * *

_Ichigo_

_Vers-la-rivière Café, Paris_

_June 8_

_8:43am_

"Kurosaki…"

The deep masculine voice with the slightest rasp at the end of the pronunciation made Ichigo's eyes flick upwards only to see the empty seat across the table. Brown eyes travelled from the windows of the café, sweeping across the balcony he was on towards the street then to a group of older American tourists taking selfies. Realizing that he was just hearing voices again, he took a sip of his coffee as he continued to observe the tourists and how they pointed at random buildings babbling about random shit.

Placing his coffee back onto the table, his shoulders slouched as his back moved an inch lower on the chair. He'd finally booked his trip back home; unfortunately it wouldn't be his preferred method of flying. Two trains from Paris to Moscow, from Moscow he'd have to take a four-day train trip to Vladivostok with only one stop in Omsk, from Vladivostok it'd be a boat ride to Kanazawa where he'd be picked up by his goat faced father. Then it was only a little over an hour before he was in sad little Karakura town. Man did he hate traveling.

Children's laughter caught his ear as Ichigo turned his head in the direction of the sound only to see a fairly mucky bus window that looked like the only washing it would ever receive was from the rain. Turning his head around in panic as the realization that he was _on a bus_ and not the café. Looking out the window he couldn't see any signs of Paris's gothic buildings but instead people and places that looked incredibly…Asian.

The laughter rose again but sounded like it was being muffled or that the noise was underwater. Looking back out the window Ichigo could see two ghostly kids in black and blue yukatas. The taller boy in the blue had blue hair that looked like water from a lagoon, cat ears extended from the blue mess as what looked like green paint was streaked beneath his large beaming blue eyes, holding a sparkler in his hand like a wand he lead the other boy in a pursuit.

The shorter boy in the black yukata stopped his chase of the taller blue haired boy as he began to walk. Orange hair much like Ichigo's dawned the boy's head however a mask that had a similarity to a skull covered his face. The boy stopped and slowly turned towards Ichigo as both sat in a very still and silent café, all background noises of Paris falling into an eerie loud piercing hum. Three red stripes ran across the top right side of the masks forehead, but what made Ichigo's breath catch were the child's eyes. The sclera that is normally coloured white in humans was as black as the night's sky while his pupils were that of a gold yellow.

_Demon_.

Ichigo felt a strange pain in his body as the boy looked at him so intently. A hand rose from the boy, a finger being placed over predatory teeth of the mask.

"Kurosaki…Kurosaki…Kurosaki!"

* * *

 

_Grimmjow_

_1 Hour from new destination, Nikko_

_June 8_

_3:58 pm_

Blood began to roll down Kurosaki's nose as the man's face held panicked look of fight or flight. The man was looking at something that Grimmjow could not see and it was obviously making him terrified. Fuck he had no idea how this connection worked, like how could he be with Kurosaki but not be able to see what he was seeing at the moment, but he needed to shake him out of his trance. Grabbing the man's hand hoping to feel that static shock that would pass through them whenever skin was connected.

Nothing. Snapping his fingers in front of the man's face wasn't doing anything very useful either. Fuck, the blood was starting to really run down and drip into his coffee. A small tingling feeling began to grow in his lower back, muscles tightened, chest clamping down as his heart begins to beat faster, teeth clench and nostrils flare. He was feeling Kurosaki's fear.

"Kurosaki," Grimmjow spoke, holding one of the man's hands in both of his.

Nothing.

"Kurosaki!" Grimmjow said again as he began to shake the hand.

Nothing.

"Kurosaki!" Grimmjow shouted with as much force in his lungs as he could.

The bus suddenly came to an abrupt stop, breaks squealing and horn blaring, the driver using very colourful language. Grimmjow snapped to as he looked around, a thin line of sweat forming over his brow. Looking out the window, two figures ran across the road and into the woods.

"Fucking kids."

* * *

_Kensei Mugumura_

_Jawaharlal Nehru Port, Mumbai_

_June 8_

_12:28pm_

The tropical rainfall was doing little to help cool the humidity of India. Kensei had been to many places in his life, being ex secret forces had allowed him to travel far and wide around the world. He was never a big fan of India however; of course this was probably because he was in the country it was an either too hot or experiencing torrential downpour kind of adventure, but this one took the cake. Not to mention at the moment he and his two companions were in the midst of trying to illegally flee the country and not get shot at all at the same time.

How could he have found himself in such a state, how did he have some of the worst luck? It probably all started three years ago when he first met the dark haired man; who was currently unconscious, bleeding, and heavy as hell. The relationship was supposed to be simple that's all he had been looking for after retiring from the forces but not even he, Kensei Mugumura, could get off so easily. So this is where he was at the moment; he was carrying the man he loved piggy-back style while an auburn haired woman with huge tits lead the way to a fishing boat that would take them to Sri Lanka.

Running up and down the loading docks was only a waste of time and the people who had been shooting at them were probably hot on their tails. Stopping behind a large imported green crate from a Chinese company, the woman turned around, blue eyes full of concern, "how's he doing?"

"Heavy," Kensei responded. Pushing the limp body up and repositioning his hands so that they had a better grip bellow the man's firm ass. He could still feel the man's chest rise and fall but it had become more laboured since he had first started carrying him, "he's still breathing. Wouldn't you be able to tell me about how he's doing?"

"He's blocking me from the pain," the woman answered as she spun around to look at a long stretch of dock occupied by near identical fishing boats.

"He can do that?"

"We are going to that one over there," the woman spun around pointing to the third closest white boat on the right. A small white painted fishing boat with a red crab symbol distinguishing it from the others that were down the line, "Shuuhei…was always the best of us at controlling it. We didn't even know about you until a year after you two started dating. Always keeping us at a distance."

"I can see why," the woman flinched at the hard tone in Kensei's voice and what they implied.

Turning on her heel the woman positioned herself, preparing to run towards the boat, "common, we are wasting time. Shuuhei needs medical attention, there might be a first aid kit on the boat if we are lucky—"

The loud blast of a gun and the sound of the bullet meeting the metal crate was all that either of them needed to take off into a breakneck sprint. Kensei weaved behind different crates as the sound of bullets zooming past him and hitting the metal filled the air around him. The woman had gone for a more direct approach, ducking her head and be-lining towards the boat. She slid along the pavement trying to halt her speed and also getting low to avoid any oncoming bullets. Untying the ropes that held the boat to the docks as fast as he hands would let her, she gave a slight push to the boat before hoping in.

Kensei cleared his last crate, a bullet nearly taking him out in the process as it sparked against the metal just inches away from his face. Taking a stunned second to adjust his grip on Shuuhei, his strong legs propelled him forward for the last few yards. They pushed off the ground as he became airborne hoping to every single god that he wouldn't end up in the fucking water. Though he managed to avoid the water, the landing still wasn't ideal as he braced himself in a way that the pair fell forward onto his chest so that Shuuhei wouldn't take the brunt of the fall. Bullets still followed them as they drifted away from the docks, hitting the side of the boat and shattering the some of the fishing gear that lay in the deck.

"Drive!" Kensei shouted as he curled rolled over and brought Shuuhei's body into a protective grasp. The motor roared to life as the propeller pushed them forward and out into the Arabian Sea. From the bullet holes, he could see that they were gaining some distance from the port.

The woman reappeared from wherever she had disappeared to on the bellow deck. She hurried over to the pair with a little white box with a red cross on in panic all across her face, "once we clear the Laccadive Sea, we'll switch boats and head to Colombo. From there we are taking a different boat to Myanmar—"

"Where are we going Rangiku?"

The woman froze at the mention of her name. She had already opened the white box and was in the midst of trying to clean the bullet wound along Shuuhei's side, "…Manila was supposed to be the place we all met. But now there's just such a strong chance that he'll have already told them about that and I—"

"Rangiku," Kensei spoke again making the woman stop her rambling. Blue teary eyes flew up to meet his, "you need to breath. Calm down and let your mind catch up so you can make a clear choice."

The woman took a hesitant breath after searching his face for any sign of panic. Kensei never allowed himself to show any signs of fear, however the nagging feeling in his heart wasn't going away. They needed to remove the bullets in Shuuhei's arm and lower back, "the thing is…I'm not sure where is safe anymore." With a steady more calm inhale and exhale, Rangiku's eyes went back down to the body before her, "we need to take out the bullets and see if they hit any organs or if he's bleeding internally. From the looks of it might just be in his muscle tissue but I want to make sure."

"What do you need?"

"A sterilized knife, needle, thread, warm fresh water, and tweezers if you can find any."

Though it pained him to do so, Kensei stood up and left to find all of the supplies that the woman had needed. Rangiku was a surgical nurse in her old life, before the whole getting shot at thing, from what Shuuhei had told him the woman had travelled all over Africa and the Middle-East aiding in relief efforts. Stepping bellow the dock, his fist shot out at the nearest wall when he was sure that he wouldn't be seen. Goddammit. The thought of losing Shuuhei had even registered during his body's kick of survival.

He didn't waste any more precious time and did the best he could at finding what Ragiku had required. Returning above deck he sat beside the woman who was currently wiping down her hands with rubbing alcohol, "I found everything except tweezers."

"Okay this is what I'm going to need you to do Kensei. Hold him the fuck down," Rangiku instructed, "I'm going to have to remove the bullets by hand. If I'm lucky he'll be able to hold the pain to himself so I can concentrate but more than likely he won't be able to. If I can't do it, we need to switch spots okay?"

"Got it."

Her fingers positioned themselves over Shuuhei's exposed back, hovering, as she seemed to second-guess herself. Looking back up she spoke, "we'll head to Ho Chi Minh City."

"Vietnam?"

"It's the last place _he'd_ expect us to go. I have a friend that lives there."

* * *

_Grimmjow_

_Downtown Bus Station, Karakura_

_June 8_

_5:29pm_

"You Grimmjow…Jag something?" a short plump woman with plum purple hair asked as the man got off the bus. Karakura's bus station was pretty vacant aside from the stray person waiting to travel to the next town over.

"Yeah that's me, are you Hikifune?" he responded with his own question. When he'd gotten into contact with the woman for a place to live the woman had sounded like a total knock out, expectations never really met his reality.

"That I am," her voice carried in a singsong manner. Pointing to the door she lead Grimmjow out of the bus station into the parking lot towards a 1985 white Toyota truck. The side doors had a sticker on them advertising _Hikifune's Blossoms_ , "we have work to do so lets skip the formalities. Can you drive?"

"I'm not really supposed to."

"Says who?" Hikifune started the vehicle and took off down the street at a fast pace, "I need a delivery driver. Had to fire my part-timer, little fucker was killing too many of my flowers."

"So what am I going to be doing?"

"Today…probably just lifting stuff and getting yourself organized. I'll train you on everything once you've settled in. Just a warning Grimmjow, I run a very tight business. My flowers are top notch and my customers expect good quality, so I expect good quality work. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good than we won't have any problems."

* * *

_Ichigo_

_Reina De Rosas Dance Studio, Paris_

_June 8_

_11:02am_

The wooden tilled floor felt cool against Ichigo's back as he heaved from exhaustion. After he had told Charlotte about his leaving the man had put him through one of the most intense routines that he'd done to date. It involved both contemporary graceful movements with the motions of hip-hop, which had turned out exceptionally. The only other dancer who had managed to keep up with dance beside himself was Bambietta and the poor girl looked like she was about to throw up between her legs.

"That should be all for today," Charlotte spoke holding a clipboard his eyes scanning the paper, "I'll see you all tomorrow night."

Just as he finished a group of young girls came barrelling through the studio doors. That was their cue to leave, each dancer heading in their own direction. Ichigo had wandered down the street towards a small boutique store that sold antique silverware and odd knickknacks that the hipsters went ape-shit over. He'd been meaning to pick something up for his family, so some last minute shopping was in order.

Stepping inside the shop the ring of the bell sounded throughout the empty store. Scent of floral cleaning products wafted to his nose, but when his eyes went to look around Ichigo was struck not by displays of painted plates and odd figurines but that of magnificent displays of flowers. Roses bushes of varying colours and sizes grew along the wall while peonies were arranged in rainbow fashion beside them. Orchids, daisies, lilies, tsubakis, snowdrops, and many other flowers too which Ichigo had no name for were on displays, which only brightened the shop.

"Puis-je vous aidez*?" a French voice asked bringing Ichigo back into the bleak and monochromatic antique shop.

"Non…" Ichigo began as he looked around to see that cheap marble statues and dusty clothing that looked about three decades too old, "…merci," had replaced the flowers.

It took him little time to return to his apartment, striping out of his clothes as he went to his bathroom turning the taps and filling his tub with water. Steam rose from the clear liquid, his skin giving a slight burn as he submerged himself bellow. He'd adjust to the warm temperature. Rubbing down his body with soap and cleaning off all the grime he had accumulated over the day. Draining the bath he got out as a loud rumble in his stomach made itself very clear that he needed to eat something.

Wrapping a towel around his waist he headed towards his small kitchenette, when he got there someone was already standing in front of his sink. A tall muscularly built man wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. But what caught Ichigo's eyes was the blue of the man's hair, looking almost like a gemstone.

"What the fuck?!" shouted Ichigo as the towel dropped to his feet and he fell backwards on his ass. Pulling the towel back up, he scooted away from the man, "what the hell are you doing in my house!"

The man didn't even so much as flinch as he continued to wipe something down in the sink, "don't ignore me! Get the hell out!"

Nothing again. As Ichigo stood the man turned his head revealing blue eyes that looked like they had been plucked from crystals looked at something Ichigo couldn't see. Firm lips curved up into a smile revealing long and sharp canines as the man silently laughed at something that Ichigo also couldn't hear. The man was unquestionably breath taking making it harder for Ichigo to look away from him.

A knock at the door broke his gaze as his head turned instinctively to follow the noise. When he turned back the man was gone and the sink was empty of any dirty or clean dishes. It was like the man was never even there to begin with. The knocking began to become impatient making him stand up and go answer the door. Bazz-B was on the other end with Bambietta and Gerard.

"We have come to pick you up for a group brunch, Bambi's idea," spoke Bazz-B in his Australian accent, his gaze looking unimpressed and his vibe clearly saying that he didn't want anything to do with this group outside of Rosas.

"Uhh…okay just give me a second to change," Ichigo said as he held the door open for the group. They spilled into the kitchen occupying the space where the blue haired man had been standing only seconds ago, "make yourself at home."

* * *

**Shuuhei and Kensei are my second favourite pairing in all of Bleach. Anyways hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think.**

**Puis-je vous aidez - Can I help you?**


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